


Tears Before Bedtime

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, Community: heroes_exchange, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Mohinder argue about Mohinder's continued involvement with the Company. But just because they fight, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. (AU after S2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears Before Bedtime

**Author's Note:**

> Written for seraphtrevs for the 2008 Secret Santa Exchange at heroes_exchange. Much love to my wonderful beta, aurilly.

Mohinder stumbles up the stairs, doubled over at the waist with an arm clutched protectively around his middle. He thinks his ribs are bruised, not broken, but right now the difference seems academic. With every breath he's treated to a stabbing ache in his chest that never seems to dull. His whole body throbs with pain. He's black and blue with bruises and the stickiness on his chin is almost certainly blood from another broken nose. It's the third one in three months. He's not sure what excuse he'll give Molly this time.

Mohinder knows that Molly sits up at night and tracks his movements, checking and double checking that Mohinder is still alive. Matt says she's still traumatised from her parents' murders, from having to be the one to tell Maya that her brother had been killed, from seeing Maya shot, but if they put her in counselling, Mohinder's sure she'll be taken away to foster care. There's nothing Mohinder can do about the past except hold her when she sobs and rock her back to sleep when she wakes in the night crying, "Mommy!" There's nothing he can do to help her heal but he tries to hide the way his heart breaks to see her hurting, and he continues fighting to take down the people who have done her so much wrong.

Matt disagrees. He thinks they should put this all behind them and move on. It isn't fair, Matt argues, that Molly should have to fret and worry that every time Mohinder leaves the house it will be their last goodbye. Matt has family somewhere in the Midwest; second cousins with children Molly's age. It's a small town and a good school district. The Sheriff's Office is always looking for qualified men and there's a local college that would give anything to have someone of Mohinder's qualifications on board. But Mohinder refuses to move. He can't give in, not on this. The Company has ruined too many lives and Mohinder will be damned if he shies away from doing something to stop them.

"You're a professor, you're not double-oh-seven," Matt had hissed at him once. They've been replaying that same argument, with different words, at different times, ever since. They yell themselves in circles when Molly isn't around and when she's tucked up tight in bed, the things they whisper at one another seem more vehement for their hushed tones.

When Mohinder opens the apartment door, he does so with his keys cupped in his palm to stop them jangling as he turns the knob. He lifts the door on its hinges to prevent the tell-tale squeak and he holds his breath, willing Matt to stay asleep as he slips over the threshold as silently as his aching body will allow.

"It's three am!"

Matt's hissed whisper scares him and Mohinder drops his keys with a loud clatter. They both pause, holding their breath to see if Molly will wake. Seconds tick by in absolute silence as they glare at one another. Matt's hair is sticking out six ways to Sunday, and he's dressed in a ratty old t-shirt and snug cotton boxers, but Mohinder knows better than to think that he's been asleep while Mohinder was limping up the stairs.

He's running a critical stare up and down Mohinder's body and Mohinder tries to turn away from the inspection, to sink back into the shadows where Matt can't see the extent to which his body has been abused tonight. Slowly, Mohinder bends down to snatch his keys from where they have fallen and as he stands, he can't help the pitiful groan that escapes his lips.

"Mohinder," Matt starts, voice still stern but his anger tinged now with concern. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Mohinder mutters as he makes his way to the kitchen. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Matt scoffs. "My definition of fine doesn't include limping in with blood smeared all over your face. And your hands… and your shirt… Jesus, Mohinder--" Matt grabs him by the arm, clutching too hard at a sensitive bruise. Mohinder rips his elbow from Matt's grip.

"I'm fine," he says with gritted teeth. "It looks worse than it is."

"I hope so, because it looks pretty damn bad!"

"I just need some ice." Mohinder turns away but Matt grabs him again, by the shoulders this time, and spins him around. His grip is gentler than before, taking heed of Mohinder's obvious pain but his tone is no less harsh.

"What the hell have you been up to, Mohinder?" Matt catches himself as his voice starts to rise, hissing instead. "If you're going to leave me and Molly worried sick without even bothering to call, the least you can do is tell me what idiotic mission Bennet has you on now."

"It wasn't Bennet," Mohinder says, shoving Matt away from him. He feels a pang of guilt as Matt staggers backwards, confusion flickering across his brow as Mohinder rejects his touch, but all Mohinder wants to do is sleep and he knows that isn't likely to happen any time soon. Matt can be as stubborn as him when the mood strikes. "It was the Company. Urgent mission with Elle to take in a special. Things got heated, but I'm fine. I just need some ice."

He turns again to the freezer, but he can still feel the weight of Matt's stare on the back of his neck. He turns to look at Matt over his shoulder. "Don't glare at me like that, Matt. I had to. I'm undercover; I can't give Bob reason to suspect that I'm not a hundred percent on board with Company policy."

"And the special? What's he? Collateral damage?"

Mohinder refuses to turn away but he has no answer for Matt's accusation. He's steeped in guilt already for his actions, finding morally grey a harder position to justify than Bennet seems to. But for some reason, instead of confessing his doubts and fears to Matt, the one person whom he can trust without question, Mohinder finds Matt's condemnation almost unbearably oppressive. He flicks open the freezer door without looking at what he is doing and as he reaches in for the ice tray, a stack of frozen dinners cascades out and crashes to the tiled floor.

In the cacophony that surrounds them, neither man remembers to whisper.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, you self-righteous, sanctimonious--" Mohinder starts while Matt shouts him down.

"You're in over your head, Mohinder! And Bennet is going to play you for a fool!" Mohinder bristles at the insult, not caring that the words he had hurled at Matt as just as bad, when he looks up and sees Molly standing in the kitchen doorway. She's rubbing her eyes, an empty water glass in her hand as an excuse to investigate their argument.

Matt catches Mohinder's line of sight and spins on his heel. "Molly," Matt tries, lowering his voice as if he hadn't been yelling in anger just moments before. "Molly, everything's ok." Matt attempts to block Molly's view with his body and crowd her out of the kitchen, but it only occurs to Mohinder too late that he should turn away from her. She's already spotted the broken nose, the way he's cradling his side and the blood on his clothes.

"Mohinder," she says in a voice so scared that to hear it hurts Mohinder more than his physical wounds combined. "Mohinder," she cries out again. She darts around Matt's legs and rushes towards him, throwing her small arms around his waist and pressing the side of her face to his stomach. She hugs him fiercely, and despite the added throb to his aching muscles, Mohinder hasn't the heart to pull her away. He can feel a dampness on his shirt as she buries her sobs in his stomach.

"Come now, Mols," he whispers. "Everything's fine." He crouches down and collects her in his arms, doing his best to ignore the venomous look Matt is giving him over the top of her bowed head. "We didn't mean to wake you." Mohinder can't help but emphasise the we, shooting Matt a look of his own and then feeling guilt coil in his gut that either of them should stoop to squabbling in front of their daughter.

"What happened?" Molly asks with a quavering voice. "I was watching… but fell asleep and now you're hurt. I didn't mean to!" She starts to cry again and no amount of soothing noises, offers of warm milk or bedtime stories can calm her. They tuck her into bed still sobbing and sit on either side of her, Mohinder stroking her hair as she clings to Matt's hand. Half an hour passes and eventually, they share a look over Molly's still weeping form.

"Go to sleep, Molly. Sweet dreams," Matt intones. Mohinder can feel a brush of weariness tugging at the edges of his mind as the strands of Matt's ability are flung slightly too wide. Matt reins it in quickly, though, and with a deep sigh, Molly falls into an almost immediate slumber, snuffling against the teddy bear she still keeps hidden beneath her pillows. They sit and watch her sleep until the air in the room is thick with what they cannot say in front of her, awake or not. Eventually Mohinder stalks out the room, Matt following closely on his heel.

Matt tries to grab his shoulder in the hall, but Mohinder shakes off his touch. In their bedroom, Mohinder turns his back on Matt, struggling to unbutton his shirt with fingers made clumsy by pain.

"Mohinder," Matt mumbles. "Mohinder, come here. Please?"

"What?" Mohinder snaps. He doesn't intend to sound so curt but he's still angry at Matt, still guilty about making Molly cry, and most of all---most immediately---he's frustrated and in pain. He's trying to do the right thing, to do what he can to atone for all the innocent lives that have been lost if not at his hand, then at the very least because of his own foolish naiveté. Dale Smither will be on his conscience until the day he dies. But tonight, as Mohinder finds himself in too much pain to even lift his arms to remove his shirt, he's beginning to fear that he does more harm than good.

"Mohinder," Matt says again softly. This time his hand rests lightly on the small of Mohinder's back and he cups Mohinder's chin with one large palm. "Come here," he whispers and Mohinder curls instinctively towards the safety of his body.

Matt is warm and solid, and when Mohinder settles his head against Matt's shoulder, his arms wrap around Mohinder's waist. Standing in Matt's embrace, clutching at his hips to hold him closer, Mohinder wishes more than ever that this could be enough. That they could turn their backs on this chapter of their lives, find what happiness they can as the post-modern family that they have become, and sequester themselves away in some farmhouse in the country. When Matt holds him, Mohinder sinks against his body, relaxing in a way that he only can when Matt is touching him. In Matt's arms, Mohinder feels completely and utterly protected.

"I love you," Mohinder mumbles against the crook of Matt's neck. It's not an apology. He can't apologise for what he's done or what he's said and he knows that Matt wouldn't believe him if he did.

"I know," Matt whispers. "I love you too." Matt kisses the top of Mohinder's head and rests his cheek against Mohinder's hair.

They lean against each other, breathing quietly in the stillness of the night. Matt hugs him a little tighter and Mohinder flinches, trying to twist his body away from the throbbing ache in his arms and chest.

"I'm sorry," Matt whispers sadly as he sees the flicker of pain across Mohinder's expression. He kisses Matt's chest softly, over the scars that sit below his heart, wordlessly accepting and forgiving. When Matt gently caresses Mohinder's sides, skimming his broad palms tenderly over Mohinder's injured ribs, Mohinder's eyes slide shut.

Under Matt's soothing touch, the last of the adrenaline that had kept Mohinder going through the physical, mental and emotional battles he has faced tonight begins to ebb. His strength flags and it is only Matt's steadying hands, one on his shoulder and one on his hip, that make Mohinder realise that he is starting to sway with exhaustion where he stands.

Matt guides him to the bed with a firm, authoritative grip and, basking in the security of Matt's closeness and the comfort of his solicitous attention, Mohinder allows himself be guided. He gives himself over to Matt's care, finally free not to think or worry. Mohinder lets himself feel at last, and despite the bone-deep soreness that seems to engulf him, above all else Mohinder finds that he is luxuriating in the warmth of Matt's touch and the tenderness of his kisses.

"Thank you, Matt," he murmurs against Matt's cheek. They smile at one another for the first time since Mohinder staggered through their apartment door. "Let me take care of you," Matt whispers in reply.

Mohinder nods wearily, lifting his strained arms as best he can to let Matt work his undershirt over his head. It catches on his ears and when Matt finally tugs it free, Mohinder hears Matt chuckle at his rumpled hair. Mohinder mock-pouts to be laughed at but before he can protest, Matt kisses his frown away, thick fingers raking through Mohinder's hair, dishevelling him further.

Matt hovers over him, the soft swell of his stomach just brushing against the hollow of Mohinder's hips. Matt leans in to deepen their kiss and their noses bump accidentally. It's barely more than touch but it sends a bolt of pain crackling around Mohinder's skull, and he hisses, pulling back as best he can and turning his face away. Mohinder's head feels white hot with pain, and with every ragged breath he takes to try to soothe his screeching nerves, the sting only seems to shift to his injured chest.

He squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth to ride out the ache. Slowly, the soreness dissipates to a more manageable throb behind his eyes and it is only then that Mohinder becomes aware of Matt's hand stroking soothingly through his hair. His lips are at Mohinder's ear, whispering nonsense noises of comfort in that low, rumbling tone that seems to wind around Mohinder's consciousness and leave Mohinder's thoughts muggy.

"Matt…" he manages. His own voice sounds muffled to his ears, as if he is hearing a murmur on a distant wind. "Matt, no. Please. Let me feel it. I need to feel it."

For a moment nothing changes. Then, Mohinder can feel the tendrils of Matt's ability relinquishing his mind. Matt eases him back into the reality of his body's condition and the renewed pain that he feels, while setting his teeth on edge, is nowhere near as jarring as their initial collision as they kissed.

"I only…" Matt starts, but Mohinder cuts him off.

"I know, Matt. Thank you. But, if I can't feel the bruises I won't have any incentive to be more careful next time."

Matt smiles at him weakly. Mohinder's words are both a concession and a refusal to back down; an admission of his own recklessness and at the same time a clear sign that this mission will not be the last one Mohinder accepts. Above the covers, their hands find each other and their fingers entwine.

They sit in silence for a while, Mohinder propped against the headboard and Matt at his side, his long legs swinging over the side of the bed. Mohinder can see Matt frown as he thinks. He goes as far as to open his mouth to speak, but merely pauses, shakes his head and keeps his words to himself. Mohinder traces the lines of Matt's palm with the tip of his finger and eventually, Matt sighs, clasps his hand firmly again and brings it to his mouth to kiss Mohinder's torn knuckles. "Keep coming back to me in one piece, Mohinder. Molly can't lose another daddy."

Matt doesn't need to say I can't lose you, for Mohinder to hear it.

"Let's patch you up, ok?" Matt says with a false cheeriness that makes Mohinder smile for the sheer effort behind it. Months ago, Matt would have started a fight. Matt would be sleeping on the sofa and Mohinder, alone and lonely, would be left with nothing but his pride and a sour sense of righteousness to comfort him as his aching body found it impossible to rest. Compromise hasn't come naturally to either man.

"I'll be right back," Matt says as he stands. "Don't go anywhere."

Matt hurries to the bathroom, returning so quickly, arms laden with hot water, towels, gauze and ointments, that Mohinder begins to wonder if he has misjudged the extent of his own injuries.

"How about some traditional pain relief?" Matt asks. He shakes the drugs under Mohinder's nose, potent pain killers left over from Matt's chest wound and, against his better judgement, Mohinder accepts them. The pills are chalky on the back of his tongue and, as he swallows, grimacing at the taste, Mohinder begins to relax. It's psychosomatic or maybe it's Matt, doing what he thinks is right, even at the risk of Mohinder's censure because the drugs can't possibly work instantaneously. But this time Mohinder doesn't try to fight it. Soon the medicine will start to work and reality will begin to mould itself around Mohinder's state of mind, whether it be induced by Matt or by his own feverish need for relief. It doesn't seem necessary to deny himself a head start on what will be inevitable.

Mohinder lets Matt turn his head to the side and sighs at the gentle caress of a warm, damp washcloth over his skin. The terrycloth is worn and threadbare. The pads of Matt's fingers and thumb are five distinct pressure points along his cheekbone as Matt wipes the congealed blood from Mohinder's skin. The nap of the cloth catches on his stubble and Mohinder smiles as the fabric pulls lightly at his skin. Matt dips the point of the cloth into the dimple of his cheek and brushes his lips tenderly over Mohinder's. "I knew you were gorgeous under all that muck," Matt whispers.

Mohinder smiles dopily in response, sure now that the drugs are starting to work. His arms and legs feel heavy and instead of the burning pain in his torso, there is a pleasant pressure in its place. Instead of agony, each breath only brings him mild discomfort.

Matt wrings out the washcloth and Mohinder frowns to the see the water quickly turn a dark, muddy pink with the clotted blood that Matt has scoured from his face. Matt catches Mohinder's expression and repeats back his assertion from earlier. "It looks worse than it is." He tapes the bridge of Mohinder's nose and kisses him playfully on his forehead before turning his attention to Mohinder's chest.

Over the past few months, Matt's first aid skills have been tested to the limit. Bennet has warned them more than once about what they risk if Mohinder goes to the ER. Mohinder winces as Matt's fingers palpitate his chest, checking for broken bones. The firm press of his fingers seems to invade the hazy fog of the painkillers until Mohinder is squirming uncomfortably under Matt's unrepentant hands. After what seems like an eternity of poking and prodding , Matt seems satisfied that Mohinder is no more than severely bruised, and brushes his fingers apologetically along Mohinder's jaw.

Matt places an ice pack on Mohinder's side and guides Mohinder's hands to hold it in place as Matt eases Mohinder's trousers from his legs. There's a burn low on Mohinder's belly, just above his belt line, and a singe on the otherwise pristine white waistband of Mohinder's underwear where Mohinder had found himself trapped between an errant bolt of Elle's lightening and the man they were attempting to apprehend. Matt smears ointment over the curve of Mohinder's hip. The mark is a tiny footnote in the catalogue of Mohinder's injuries but Matt is just as gentle and just as attentive to the small patch of blistered skin as he has been to Mohinder's fractured nose and his battered ribs.

Mohinder's knees are scraped, and his shins are graffitied with incidental cuts and bruises. He thinks he must look like Molly after a playground scrap. Either Matt's caught his thought or the similarity has dawned on him, too, because Matt's smiling to himself as he cleans the grit from Mohinder's scabs and plasters Band-Aids over his legs. He kisses each of Mohinder's knees and then pats him gently on the thigh. "All fixed up. Good as new."

"Thank you, Matt," Mohinder whispers, stroking Matt's hair back from his forehead. "You're too good to me."

Matt shakes his head. "No trouble at all. You're a good patient."

"Do I get a reward for being so good?" Mohinder teases.

"What kind of reward? I don't have any lollipops."

"A kiss," Mohinder asks breathlessly. "Please," he adds more softly.

"Like this?" Matt breathes, dipping his head and placing the gentlest of kisses to Mohinder's crotch, over the head of his cock where it lies nestled in his underwear.

"Oh," Mohinder gasps, surprised that despite the haze of drugs and pain, he can still acutely feel the hot rush of blood between his legs and the tug in his gut as his cock responds to Matt's caress. "Feels so good," he whispers, stroking Matt's cheek as he nuzzles against Mohinder's groin. Matt's eyes upturned to watch Mohinder's face, a tiny furrow appearing between his eyebrows as he moves cautiously to avoid causing Mohinder pain.

Carefully, Matt peels down Mohinder's boxer-briefs, scattering kisses across his inner thighs as he nudges Mohinder's legs apart and settles between them. He mouths at Mohinder's sac, lips firm but gentle as they tug lightly at Mohinder's loose, wrinkled skin. Mohinder tries to lift himself on his elbows, wanting to watch Matt at the axis of his thighs, but he hasn't the strength to hold his body up and settles for splaying back against the blankets. He concentrates on the feel of Matt's skin so smooth and soft beneath his fingertips and on the breathless groans that spill from around his cock, between the wet noises of suction and kissing, to compensate for what he cannot see.

Matt's tongue is warm and strong, lapping smooth lines around each of Mohinder's testicles and sucking them into his mouth. Matt runs his fingers along Mohinder's cock, teasing that spot under the head that makes Mohinder's pulse thrum hotter and his breathing quicken.

Pleasure swirls around Mohinder's body. He's seemingly numb in some places – his ribs, his nose, his scraped knees – and overwhelmed with sensation in others – his cock, his balls, behind his nipples. It's a strange, almost dissociative heat that radiates out in ever headier pulses. He feels the slick friction of Matt's tongue as he slides up from Mohinder's sac, along his shaft and over his slit. Mohinder gasps as Matt curls his lips around the head of his dick and sighs desperately at the flick of Matt's tongue under the crown. His feet twist in the sheets at the sound and feel of Matt's suction along his length.

Mohinder's hips hitch in time to the ebb and flow of Matt's head, and his knees fall eagerly further apart. With uncoordinated hands, Mohinder moves the icepack on his chest, pushing it over his nipples and down the centre of his sternum. It's selfish and indulgent to tease himself like that. Mohinder thinks he probably doesn't deserve the pleasure that unfurls in his gut as the ice skitters wetly over his too-sensitive skin, both stimulating and deadening in a conflicting, dizzying whirligig of arousal. The movement catches Matt's eyes and he pulls away, breathing deeply and licking his lips. He stills for a moment, crouched betwixt Mohinder's thighs and watches Mohinder's hands cup and fondle, stroke and caress. Matt's moans of wordless encouragement quickly become an almost inaudible tut of concern as Mohinder twists this way and that, aggravating the bruises that he now barely feels. Matt crawls up Mohinder's body, leaving kisses along the path that Mohinder's fingers have mapped out for him in frigid trails of too-cold water.

Matt repositions the icepack over the worst of Mohinder's bruising and uses the resulting chill on his fingertips to trace around Mohinder's nipples before warming the hardened points with his lips. He leaves sucking kisses along Mohinder's throat, nibbling along his jaw to nuzzle behind his ear even as Mohinder turns to him, wordlessly begging for Matt's lips to meet his own.

They kiss carefully, Matt's wide palm cupped around Mohinder's chin to stop their noses jostling one another again. Mohinder's hips sway, pressing his cock to the yielding softness of Matt's belly. Mohinder sighs into Matt's mouth at the tickle of the hair below Matt's navel against his dick. He can taste himself on Matt's tongue and when Matt breaks away to shuffle down his body once more, Mohinder whimpers, clutching at the back of his neck and holding him close.

"Stay here with me, Matt," Mohinder mumbles. Even as he says it, Mohinder isn't sure whether he's begging for the immediacy of their kisses or the security of a greater commitment that transcends the cloak and dagger conspiracy their lives have become. All he knows is that he wants to feel Matt's breath on his lips as he comes. He wants to hear Matt groan in time with him and when he opens his eyes, Mohinder wants Matt to be all that he sees.

"Yes," Matt whispers. He folds his palm around Mohinder's erection, his other hand supporting the nape of Mohinder's neck as Mohinder's back arches and his knees rise up off the bed. Mohinder's body writhes on instinct, thrusting up into Matt's quickening and tightening fist without conscious thought. The icepack slides out of his grip and dampens the sheets where it sits, but this time Matt doesn't move it back.

Matt strokes his cock, faster and faster, thumb sliding gracefully over the wet tip with every upstroke and circling firm under the head on every downstroke. It's a perfect, unceasing rhythm that leaves Mohinder gasping for breath as his chest and balls grow tighter still. Mohinder finds it impossible to struggle through the daze of drugs and pleasure to pinpoint when or how he will reach his peak. When the growing tension in his thighs and gut finally shatters, his cock pulsing hot, thick ribbons of semen between their stomachs, neither he nor Matt are given any warning.

Mohinder's body slowly relaxes into the welcoming cocoon of his afterglow, muscles slack and his skin prickled with cooling sweat from his release. As his breathing evens out, it seems harder than it should be for Mohinder to open his eyes. When he does, Mohinder sees Matt smiling down at him, wiping the come from their skin.

With an unsteady hand, Mohinder reaches between Matt's legs. His fingers stumble for the solid weight of Matt's balls as he presses his palm against the hard line of Matt's erection, all still constrained within his boxers. Mohinder grinds his hand against Matt's cock for a moment before the strength in his upper arm gives out. With a regretful sigh, Mohinder is forced to relinquish the touch.

"Matt," Mohinder sighs forlornly, willing Matt to somehow give him the energy he needs to reciprocate as he wants to, but even speaking Matt's name saps him of his strength.

"Sleep," Matt chides. It's not an order, or rather, not an order that cannot be disobeyed, but with Matt's words, Mohinder allows himself to let go, to be pulled under by the cosseting fog of the drugs and the security of his post-orgasmic weariness.

"In the morning…" Mohinder mutters, eyes heavy with exhaustion, lips barely moving as he speaks.

"In the morning," Matt agrees softly, kissing his cheek and tucking the blankets around them.


End file.
